


A Decent Proposal

by Name1



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Customs, F/M, Fluff, Romance, bean - Freeform, friends to lover, idiots to lovers, making it up as I go, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name1/pseuds/Name1
Summary: "Never tell him I said this, but Greef's right for once. We are like an old married couple."He's staring at her like she grew another head, though thankfully the visor didn't give anything away. He couldn't believe what she had just said. Even though he knew she didn't mean it or even know what she was implying, it made his heart rate speed up nonetheless. He never thought in a million years he'd ever consider marriage or being a position where it was a possibility, but with Cara he would consider it—he had considered it at night when she slept beside him.  She was right; they had all the trappings anyway. They had been spouses in every way that mattered for the better part of a year. And what she had just said.... he could never unhear that.-Or-Cara accidentally proposes and Din’s brain can’t compute.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this pointless thing that wouldn't get out of my head.  
> I hope it's not too OOC. Just squint if you have to okay :D

She came in, guns blazing, and saved his ass. Again.

Din got up from his crouch near the wall of the building he had been pinned against and took a second to stretch and check himself for injuries. Once it seemed everything was in order, she threw him his beloved rifle from where she had it strapped to her back and tossed him a flash-bang as a backup for their walk back to the Crest.

"What would you do without me, Din?" she asked, as she pulled the forehead of his helmet down to rest against her hairline once they got to the scuffed up ramp. She'd dropped him off for a job and had taken the Crest for the day to cover a second job before the deal expired and their chance for a second payday was lost. She wouldn't admit it, but she had been worried when he didn't answer her earlier. She'd raced to get back to him as fast as she could but almost an hour had passed since she received his first garbled transmission. 

He reached up and held her forehead against his a bit longer, relieved to see her and unsurprised that she was even more radiant after a fight and shootout to get to him. The first time she had initiated this form of intimate contact he’d felt guilty about enjoying it since there was no way she could possibly appreciate what its underlying meaning was. Since then, they had been doing this more and more often lately--resting their foreheads together when they saw each other after even a brief separation--even after he'd explained to her what it meant. Only once he was certain she knew what she was doing and still didn’t hesitate to touch her face to his, did he finally let himself savor this new closeness.

He remembered she had asked him a question—a teasing question—but a question, nonetheless. "I don't know, probably get shot a lot more," he admits, somewhat grumpily. "Thanks for taking care of those infantrymen."

"We make a good team, Din; you and me.....and the kid of course." She answered his next question before he even had a chance to voice it. "He's safe on the ship by the way, don't worry so much, you'll get wrinkles under there."

She presented him his blaster she had found in the courtyard and handed him hers as well. She explained as she handed it over and noticed his hesitation, "yours is busted. Take mine."

He stared at her blaster he knew almost as well as his own for a long time before tucking it into his belt. They shared the arsenal on the Crest 50/50, but every time she gave him her weapon he felt a weird feeling in his stomach. He wondered if she felt it when he gave her his too. He couldn’t explain it, but it made him feel good seeing her well-armed even if it meant he was underpowered. "You know, we probably shouldn't separate for an assignment again," she said, "bad things seem to happen whenever we split up. We share everything anyway, what's the point of taking jobs separately?"

He couldn't argue with that, he thought. They'd been working twice as many jobs to build up their savings, but every time they waved goodbye even for the day something in him screamed not to let her go off on her own. They had such a good thing going and every time they worked different jobs there was the chance they might not be able to rendezvous like they planned. He knew she could more than handle herself, but it made him sick to think about a day where she might not come back. All for some credits.......

"You're unusually quiet. What do you think?” she asks him. “You know I'll always save your ass no matter the distance, but it'd be easier if we just stuck together." She adds on as an afterthought, "not to mention the kid needs both of us. With all due respect to your paternal instincts, you're no match for that fuzzy green bean. He needs both of us just to wrangle him into the bathtub."

Din was quiet. He was surprised to see her just appeared out of nowhere, sure; but he was even more surprised about the words she was using without appreciating what they stirred in him. What she was implying was unintentional but still made him freeze. It sounded an awful lot like how his people talked about.......he quickly shut down that thought. "You were supposed to be on Arvala by now," he chastises her.

She scoffs at his nerve. "I got your distress call and couldn't ignore it, doofus. Are you actually arguing with me for abandoning a job to come fight beside you? Never tell him I said this, but Greef's right for once. We _are_ like an old married couple."

He's staring at her like she grew another head, though thankfully the visor didn't give anything away. He couldn't believe what she had just said. Even though he knew she didn't mean it or even know what she was implying, it made his heart rate speed up nonetheless. He never thought in a million years he'd ever consider marriage or being a position where it was a possibility, but with Cara he would consider it—he _had_ considered it at night when she slept beside him. She was right; they had all the trappings anyway. They had been spouses in every way that mattered for the better part of a year. And what she had just said.... he could never unhear that. 

_Why did it have to be so suddenly obvious?_ he thinks. He _knew_ they were compatible in every way. He _knew_ he loved her, and he _knew_ she loved him, but the two-ton bantha in the room were the words they had said once but had been afraid to repeat. He remembers it like it was yesterday, though. They had an unspoken rule not to say it again after the one time it spilled its way out and they laid it all out on the line. 

That had been a horrible day. He only remembers bits and pieces--that's how much his brain had shut out those horrible few minutes…

..........

There had been a landmine, he recalls. A massive explosion. There was almost nothing remaining of her left side when the smoke cleared. That whole part of her was just gone; where her side used to be--there was just nothing. The missing section of her abdomen was bigger than both his hands and left horribly open from the detonation. He couldn't beg her to hold on with an injury like that--that would be selfish with the agony she must be in. He should hope she passed quickly but he couldn't even do that. He knew what losing her would do to him....and the kid.

There was nothing he could do though--there was no amount of pressure he could apply or blood he could transfuse that would even make the slightest difference. She had seconds, a minute at best, before her body caught up with reality and realized it couldn't live like this. Luckily, her brain hadn't caught up with her body yet.

He couldn't even try to hold her without causing her more pain, so he held her hands instead-- the only part of her that wasn't damaged. When she didn't squeeze back, he knew there was no time left to pretend this was anything but his last moment with her. He touched her face softly, smearing her own warm blood on her cheeks in an attempt to comfort her and be close to her one last time. He wanted to lighten the mood but failed horribly. “You’re not going to let a little wound take you out are you Dune? You promised you wouldn’t leave me.” His joke fell flat, though he could see something in her eyes light up at his attempt to tease her. There was no more time for jokes-- _this was it_. Whatever he said now would be the last thing he ever said to her. "I love you. Please…..don't go. Cara….I….Stay with me." He knew it was an impossible request and he felt guilty for asking her something she couldn’t do.

He could see in her eyes that she heard him--recognized his words. She tried to cough out a throat full of blood and spit, but couldn't clear her airway. Despite her inability to breathe and the panic at not getting enough air she managed to struggle out a whispered “I love _you_.......Di--” around a mouth full of blood. He tilted her head to the side, so she wasn't gagging with every breath, but it didn't help. She was choking-- _drowning_ \-- right in front of him; but still ‘ _Cara’_ up until the end--she was stubbornly fighting it-- and it killed him knowing he could do nothing but watch. She didn't stop fighting until suddenly she simply wasn't. She had passed out and seeing her stop struggling was infinitely worse. The part of him who traitorously reminded him she wasn’t suffering anymore could go right to Hell. 

He carried her back to the ship, closed the door so they were safe, and laid her down. He knew the kid was probably milling around but he desperately hoped he was asleep. The green bean had seen so much bad shit and Din prayed he would be spared witnessing this too. He didn't want the little guy to see this. Hell, _he_ didn't want to see this--didn't want his last memory of her to be like this-- but he couldn't leave her. 

She wouldn't leave _him_. 

She had just a hint of a pulse, but he knew it wouldn't be even another moment until that was gone too. There was simply no blood left in her for her heart to pump--the blast and shrapnel had produced an almost instantly fatal wound. That he even got 10 seconds to tell her he loved her and hear her voice tell him what he already knew was a miracle. 

There were only a few more moments of a life with Cara in it, but she wasn't in pain and that was the only comfort he could hold onto. He wasn't sure if enough of her was still intact to feel pain but if she cried out even the faintest bit, he'd use every bit of his precious nerve-blocker reserves to make sure she wasn't suffering.

There was no sign of the kid and her eyes would never open again, so he took off his helmet and buried his face into her hair to feel the last bits of warmth from the woman he loved more than life itself—the woman he was too cowardly to tell until it was too late. Her skin was already cooler to the touch, but her hair still smelled like the shampoo she used and he tried to memorize the subtle herbal scent he smelled on his pillow every morning when he woke up. 

He closed his eyes and tried to will some warmth back into her cool face. Cara always hated being cold—the two extra blankets on their bed were testament to that.

When moments went by and she started to feel warmer instead of the opposite he looked up, knowing he'd just imagined it, but he made himself chance a glimpse anyway. Luckily, the first thing he saw wasn't the gaping hole where her stomach used to be, it was the fuzzy green ears of his-- _their_ \--kid. The little guy was slumped across her side, her blood discoloring his tan colored tunic, and his face perfectly relaxed in sleep. Din wondered how he could possibly be sleeping seeing Cara like this until it clicked. Underneath his resting face was her _side_ \--the side of her abdomen that wasn't even there a moment ago. 

He hadn't even heard the soft footfalls of his approach; he'd been so consumed in his own grief. He couldn't bring himself to believe it. With a shaky hand, Din raised what was left of the blood soaked fabric of her shirt and was met with the most beautiful site--her smooth stomach, whole and wonderfully intact--her ribs were where they should have been and enough blood was pumping in her veins to sustain life. There was no evidence whatsoever of the nightmare from just a few minutes ago--not so much as a scratch. The kid didn't _heal her injury_ , he thought--he brought her back from the cusp of death--possibly death _itself_ at unknown risk to himself. Cara was going to be so pissed.

It takes her frighteningly long minutes to stir--minutes Din spends convincing himself she's alive and just unconscious--minutes where he places his hand on the boy's back to comfort him while being too scared to move him just in case he had to stay in proximity to her to keep the magic alive. He had to be sure it wouldn't all be reversed if he moved the kid away too prematurely. He had no idea how this ' _force'_ worked as it flowed from the boy into her, but he wasn't taking any chances.

He sees her eyes moving under her eyelids, and feels his own life rush back into him when she moans uncomfortably and tries to sit up. He couldn't wait for her to yell at him.

"Don't move," he tells her, his voice strangely hoarse, "you're recovering." His hands on her shoulders convince her to lay still where his voice failed.

She looks around, blinking heavily. "Recovering?" she asks, struggling with the concept. "I remember seeing you, hearing your voice, and then nothing. I thought I was _dead_."

That word is like a punch to his face and he has to remind himself she's alive. It was just another near miss. Din tries to explain the miracle he'd just seen to her.

"The kid, he---"

"He---"

He tried twice to get it out, but he couldn't even speak. Maybe she really was gone, and his mind couldn't accept it so he was hallucinating to cope. She looked perfectly real and perfectly alive though, except for the blood drying dark on her skin where it was bright red only minutes ago.

Cara looks down and sees the kid sleeping against her side and scoops him up to lay on her chest instead. That was always his favorite place.

She was struggling to sit up so she could yell at Din properly. She was going to lay into him for being so careless. "Din. How could you let him--"

"I didn't _let_ him," he argues. "You know how stubborn he is. He gets that from you. He appeared out of nowhere, I swear."

She wasn’t hearing his lame excuse. "This wasn't a scratch or a blaster shot Din. Who knows how much energy he used this time."

"He's just sleeping," he reassures her. It was true they didn't know what long term effects he suffered if any, but he knew Cara would never forgive herself if using his gift took away from his own life force or shortened his own frog-chasing life by even minutes. They had both agreed never to ask him to use his special ability again, but it appeared he did it anyway. _That kid never listened._

In Din's defense, he hadn't even thought of finding the kid to try to save her when he laid her down and cradled her face. His brain had all but shut down, only focusing on being there for her in her last moments. The kid had made his own choice--Din didn't even need to ask. Bean had wanted to save her where Din couldn't, and so he did. 

"You're an idiot,” she says to the man in front of her, as she readjusts the sleeping kid against her so his ears aren't folded awkwardly. She knew the blood on his fuzzy head was hers, but it still made her uneasy to see that much blood on his little body.

Cara seems genuinely pissed off, but Din was only too happy to see her riled up. That woman could win an argument with a disassembled land speeder. "Are we really yelling at each other when you almost died?" he asks, disbelievingly.

"Seems like there's no better time to me,” she says. “I'm going to kick your ass once I can stand."

Din wanted to make a joke along the lines of _'I can't wait_ ', but he was barely capable of even looking at her without seeing her bleeding out in front of him or hearing her last words as she fought to say she loved him.

…..some time later after dinner…..

Cara had taken a shower to wash the blood off her while taking a washcloth to the kid and Din sat outside the door in case she had any weakness upon standing, given how she was all but dead only hours ago. As soon as the water turned off, he made himself scarce so she wouldn't think he doubted her strength, but gave himself away when he left a second towel on the floor where she often complained the floor was slippery. 

She approached him later that night when they were ready for bed but still lingering in the common area —the day had taken a toll on them both it seemed. She cornered him by his bunk that was also hers now. She's not sure how they can lay down side by side just like every other night and pretend like their whole world hadn't just shifted, but she'd try if he wanted her to.

"I remember what you said." she says quietly, and tries to make it sound like a confession instead of an accusation.

Din freezes in place, knowing instantly what she's referring to. "I've said a lot of things." He felt less trepidation when he was cornered in a gunfight than in front of Cara when she had a bone to pick with him. The fact that she was talking about _that_ only raised the stakes. He's not sure what a mis-step here could cost him…

"So, you _didn't_ mean it then?" she asks, and he can hear the disappointment in her words before she steadies her voice and forces her face in something understanding and nonchalant. "It's okay if you didn't," she says quickly. "I understand. I get it, I _do_. You were just panicked and--"

"I did," he said quietly, but firmly, to interrupt her. Where weeks or even days ago he wasn’t sure how he could have managed to utter those words, right now it was simple--a lingering effect of this afternoon's close call-- the easiest thing in the world to say. "I did mean it." The fear of losing her respect; of embarrassment or rejection, was nothing compared to the chance of never getting to see her again.

A long moment goes by.

"I remember what _I_ said too," she admits, hoping to put him at ease by making herself rarely vulnerable.

Din appreciated the effort. "......and did _you_ ...? _Mean it_ , I mean?" he clarifies, and feels ridiculous that he can't even form a full sentence with her so close; talking about the subject they had always avoided so stubbornly.

She doesn't hesitate at all. "Yes, I meant it." 

That was almost the last thing she ever said, but he'd been worried maybe she was out of her mind in pain or shock. It seemed she had been in control of her faculties up to the very end. 

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

' _What the hell do you say to that?_ ' he wonders--a woman who means more to you than anything telling you she loves you? The first thing that came to mind apparently, much to his chagrin. "Good."

" _Good_?" she repeats, with one of her eyebrows much higher than the other one. He'd feel embarrassed at his lack of eloquence but all he can feel now is that she's laughing and when he thought he might never hear it again.

She seems to weigh his response. "Okay.... not quite the declaration every woman dreams of, but we can go with ' _good,_ '" she tells him, giving him some leeway given the afternoon's events.

It's almost funny even to him how bad he is at this. "I'm sorry. It was the first word I thought of." He knows she's teasing him, but he still feels bad about his inadequacies. "I don't really know what to say. I'm glad, _really_. I don't think anyone's ever told me that before." He knows he already told her, but feels like he should say it again. "I really did mean it. Just because I'm garbage at saying it, doesn't make it less true."

"I know," she reassures him, " I knew, even if you didn't say anything."

"Where do we go from here?" he asks. He looked like a panicked bird, ready to startle or take flight at any second. He looked probably much the same as she did.

She seems to understand his restlessness--this wasn't exactly something they talked about. "Today was a mess," she says, giving him an out if that's what he's looking for. "We can talk about it at some point or just pretend we never said anything. It's up to you." She was so kind and thoughtful, never pushing him or trying to get more out of him than he was willing to put forth--the opposite of everyone he'd ever come across. While the thought of everything changing in a matter of seconds scared him, he much preferred it to the alternative. 

"I don't want to pretend it never happened," he tells her, trying hard to look her in the eyes.

She nods. She must have agreed the time for ignoring it was over. "We can talk about it later then?" she suggests, giving him a chance to breathe and adjust to the fact that their whole world may have just tilted on its axis.

"When?" he asks, and he almost laughs at himself at how impatient he sounded just then. Where just a moment ago he'd been terrified, now he suddenly wants to clear the air. He's kind of drunk on bravery now that she knows and seems to return his sentiment.

"Whenever the time is right." she tells him. "We don't have to rush."

He wants to argue that putting it off is what landed them in this situation to begin with--after today, he feels like every day they go without talking about it is another chance for catastrophe; another chance for important words left unsaid.

"How will we know when that is?" he asks. They really just agreed to revisit _this_. _Progress was progress, but scary progress nonetheless_ , he thinks. 

Maybe he'd come up with something better to say by then—suave, profound even—but he doubted it. She made him forget how to speak on the best of days. Talking about loving her and what that meant.... he thinks maybe he should write it down so he can collect his thoughts to come up with something to wow her a little more than "that's good."

"I have no idea," she tells him, relieved he doesn't seem to have any more answers than she does. "I have no experience with this, but I think we'll know."

...........................

Back to the present

Ever since she had come to his rescue earlier in the day and they returned back to the Crest side by side, he had been strangely aloof, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. "You've been acting weird, distracted maybe," she tells him "You've been looking at me and then looking away. Is there something on my face?" 

"Your face is fine," he said absentmindedly, barely following her words. He was more than a little distracted. Her face was so much better than fine, and he couldn't even articulate this simple fact with his mind elsewhere.

"What, then?" she asks. "I hope you weren't offended earlier when I said it takes both of us to watch the little guy; you're doing a really grea--"

"You asked me to marry you earlier, of course I'm distracted." He doesn't know of a good way to ease into what's been on his mind, so he just throws it out there and hopes she understands. 

"Ummm…Din?" She eyes him critically, like he might have a missed injury lurking in plain sight. "I think I'd remember that. Did you hit your head?" It seems like a weird hallucination, but not out of the realm of crazy dreams she'd had herself. 

"You did," he insists. "Earlier you proposed marriage whether you meant to or not."

She wanted to laugh, but he didn't appear to be kidding so she kept a straight face. 

"What exactly did I say?" she inquires.

"It wasn't specifically the words. There are no exact words," he tries to explain, "it was what you were trying to convey."

"And what was that?" she asks, though after re-running her words through her head, she thinks she might know where this is going.

"You saved me today and then presented me with your weapon so I could defend myself, leaving yourself vulnerable, Cara," he says plainly. "You rested your forehead against mine, you stated we share everything--that we're better together than apart, and you've taken on my foundling as yours." He lets out a small disbelieving huff from his nose. "There's not much more than that in our custom. That's basically how Mandalorians propose marriage."

She remembered all of that--it was all accurate. "Everything I said was true," she says sincerely, "though I didn't know stating facts I thought we both knew to be true had a higher meaning to you.” Din didn’t seem upset by the surprise proposal, so she tried to feel out the situation. “So, what happens after a proposal?"

He had expected her to backpedal or laugh it off as a funny misunderstanding, but she didn't seem like she was making light of the situation or trying to play it off as a joke. She seemed genuinely interested in the process she had inadvertently begun. 

He tries to explain the process he had never really seen up close but knew just the same. "If a Mandalorian is offered a proposal of marriage, they can either reject it outright if they don't find the match suitable or they can go through a period of arguments and make a final decision based on the evidence presented. It's very factual and utilitarian; not very romantic at all."

"So, what does that mean here?" she asked.

"If I find you a suitable partner then I have to formally follow through with the process and either accept or deny it at the end.

She hesitated a bit. "And.... do you?" 

_Did he_? she wondered. Was she even in the same galaxy as someone he'd consider a worthwhile ' _offer_ '?

He finds her question laughable. but he couldn't tell if she was teasing or not. "Shut up, you're so much more than suitable, you're the perfect partner. Every Mandalorian alive would be jealous of me right now." That got a smile out of her. She always got weird when someone paid her a compliment--as if she wasn't used to it by now, or maybe she just couldn't see what the rest of the universe saw when it looked at her. She was more than the perfect partner, she was _his_ perfect partner. She was the very ideal of honor and strength and bravery that Mandalorians believed in and were drawn to. She was almost too perfect to be real and to think, she was here with him....

Din knew she could have first pick of anyone she wanted. Everyone in his tribe would all fall down at her feet after just a few minutes in her presence. As much as he'd love to take this chance to lock her down and claim her as his, he could never do that to her. She didn't even see how everything she did bewitched him or how her words and actions were practically marriage vows already. It wouldn't be fair to almost trick her into this just to keep her by his side.

"You're more than suitable, Cara," he tells her, "but I'm not going to bind you to me because of a few accidental words and lack of cultural awareness."

"You're avoiding the obvious question, Din. You still didn't tell me what happens next."

"If you really mean it, then either you rescind it, I decline outright, or I have to give you an answer after negotiations."

"What does that mean?" she asks.

"You tell me why it's a suitable match. I'm supposed to fight you and convince you why it's not a good idea, then you take another turn to convince me it _is_."

"We'll I'm not taking it back, so what's your next move?" she asks him. "Would you politely decline or are we going forward?"

She didn't understand his hesitation. Was he trying to save her the embarrassment because he planned to say 'no', or would he say 'yes'? If so, why he didn't answer? She felt like they were talking in circles.

Din gave her another way to bow out gracefully if she wasn't serious. "It won’t wound me if you want to rescind it," he tells her. "I know you didn’t mean it. You didn't know what you were implying. I can't hold you to that." Even if he now wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything for himself before, he still wouldn't trap her into this.

"I _did_ mean it though--all of it," she says slowly, trying to get it through his thick head. "I just didn't know there was more behind it I wasn't aware of. Just because I accidentally proposed doesn't mean I want to take back any of it or that I mean it any less. Knowing what it means, I'd say it all again."

She just said exactly what Din had been hoping she'd say. "You don't want to rescind it then?" he asks her. "This isn't a joke, it's binding."

"I'm not joking, I'm just out of my element here," she tells him, trying to impart how serious she's taking this unexpected turn of events. "For uh... reasons, what are the next steps in a process like this? I convince you right?" she asks, thinking she has a grasp of what he's described the process as. 

He's unsure what he's supposed to say. He's been struck almost completely silent from her surprise declaration.

She misinterprets his silence as reluctance. "Are you turning down my offer then?" 

"No....I didn't say that." He'd be a fool to turn her down. 

"Then you'll have to help me out," she tells him, "I don't know what convincing you looks like."

He focuses on imparting the factual knowledge of the process involved in marriage negotiations he learned as a child. If he focuses on the fact that he might finish the day married to Cara, he's not sure he can get the words out. "You have to tell me reasons why it would work. And I have to tell you reasons it wouldn’t, and then you disagree and see if I'm convinced. You can still take it back, it's not too late."

There's a smile on her face. She wasn't taking it back. He knew that stubborn look from a hundred yards. "Not a chance," she says right up against his chin. "Turn me down if you don't like it."

He suddenly realized just how much he wanted this now. What started out as an accident, suddenly wasn't funny anymore. 

He reached out to take her fingers in his. "Then _you_ convince me to marry you. Impress me."

She snorted, despite trying hard not to laugh given how serious the subject matter was. She just couldn't help it. "That’s the most sexist load of bantha shit I've ever heard. Why can't _you_ convince _me_?"

It was his turn to laugh. "It’s not sexist, _you_ made the proposal. If I had made it, I’d have to convince you."

She could tell he was looking forward to what she would say. As much as she hated being the ' _pursuer_ ' in this scenario, she wanted him to feel valued and fought over and it was within her power to make him feel just that. She never thought she'd be convincing someone to marry her but here they were. She could swallow some of her pride--she knew the final product would be worth it. 

For so long that had both lived in the present, without risking looking to the future. Maybe it was time to take a glance if one of them pushed a little. 

"Fine, we're good together," she says to the region of his neck when looking into his visor was too much. While she meant it to sound like something grand and special, it almost comes across as something that physically pained her to admit--not quite what she was going for. She was no good at feelings.

When she doesn't say anything else, he laughs. "That's the best you got, really?"

"We're _better_ than good together," she says, to amend her earlier statement. "We're the same in all the ways we should be and opposite in all the ways that keep us from going insane and killing each other in the night."

He shakes his head at her genuine attempt. "You're a hopeless romantic. You should write poetry or songs," he tells her. He can tell she's trying hard to keep her middle finger clenched in her fist at her side.

"Shut up. I'm _convincing_ you," she reminds him, and he quiets down. "We work well together, we've lived together for over a year, and you me and the kid have made a family for ourselves out of nothing. We've fought some pretty impossible odds to stay together and the few times we've been separated we've found our way back together time and time again. That has to mean something...." She's looking at his shoulders now.

He's about to chime in with another smartassed remark about her views on romance but she surprises him when she keeps speaking.

"Life is better with you in it," she tells him, while looking somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. "You've made me forget the bad shit that's followed me for years and that's no small l feat. I can't really imagine doing any of this without you. There's no one else I'd want to do this with than you. We're practically married already, aren't we?"

"For me too," he says, trying to show her that her rare emotional display wasn't in vain. "And to answer your question, in the eyes of my people, _yes_ \--in all but the official sense. I've respected and revered you as a spouse for some time. Are you ready for me to make a rebuttal or do you have anything else to add?"

He appeared to be enjoying this display too much, but she didn't care. This process gave her a reason and platform to say what she'd thought in the privacy of her mind for the longest time. "We're compatible physically, and mentally; in fighting and in hunting, and lazy days in between getting shot at and patching each other up..... You like the right side of the bed and I like the left. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say. ...help me out here."

They were compatible intimately as well, but she couldn't go there without remembering their nights recently. They stripped down to their underwear for bed now, and while they seemed to have an unspoken rule that the thin fabric stay on, that didn’t help them from testing the very limits of that rule almost every chance they got; writhing desperately against each other with only their soft under-layer to separate them when she pulled him on top of her to settle between her legs; the sound of their breathing, the feel of elastic pulled tight, and the occasional seam popping from fabric pushed aside in haste to get hands and mouths where they wanted. Technically they never came off so.......

She knew she had to get this back on track as she felt her cheeks getting warm. 

"Sooooo?" she makes an impatient motion with her hand, indicating it's his turn to assess her reasons and respond.

He makes a pleased sound signaling her part of the negotiations was over for now. "That's more than enough," he decides. Din knew Cara would rather get shot in the thigh at point blank than talk about feelings, but he couldn't help but be impressed with her bravery doing just that. _Look at what she had just done_ , he thought--and she did all that for _him_. He learned a long time ago to watch what Cara _did_ and not what her smart mouth _said_ if you wanted to see how she cared for others, and this was the best of both. Her actions were how she showed she cared, but her words he knew took more from her to put together. The fact that she did it for him and that what she put together matched so perfectly what he felt was a great comfort he wasn't about to humiliate himself by accepting her offer at the end of all this.

When he doesn't jump in and a few awkward moments linger she gets impatient. "Aren't you supposed to tell me why it's a bad idea now. You said that's how this works."

She crosses her arms at his obliviousness to her discomfort being at the disadvantage here. This was his tradition to begin with. He doesn’t get to play dumb now.

Normally their families would help with all this but he doesn't want to mention something he knows she never forgets is missing. It had always been just them for the important stuff. They could do this with just them too--it was almost better this way. They just needed each other--just them when they met, just them when they chose to travel together, just them when they chose to stay together, and just them when they chose to finally stop being idiots and become one. 

She'd ready to hear his reasons why it's a terrible idea. _He must have quite the list_ , she thinks. "Let's hear it, what do you got?" She's already bracing herself not to be offended by his laundry list of her faults. 

Din really struggled to piece together any argument why they shouldn't become spouses since they were all but married already, but he had to come up with something. It was part of the process--the metaphorical fighting that would follow the actual fighting of courtship to impress each other and prove themselves a suitable partner and protective parent for children that would come along. He really only has three, but that's enough to count.

"We're both hot-headed,” he reminds her to start with. “We'll argue and clash sometimes."

"Well yeah, of course we will," she shoots back, unimpressed that's what he came up with. "That's normal. We butt heads all the time but we respect each other and we don't take cheap shots." She's written that one off without much effort. "Next."

He has a second one but it's also tenuous at best. "It would make you feel weak and you hate feeling weak."

"Being your wife?" she asks, quizzically. "I thought Mandalorian spouses were equals. How would that make me feel weak?"

"In other cultures, wives are seen as subservient and only cut out to be mothers and not warriors," he explains. He can't believe he's actually trying to convince her this is a bad idea. Mandalorian customs left something to be desired.

"But not with us," she argued. "I don't care what other people believe. What we believe is that we're in this 50/50." She dismissed that one easily as well. "Next."

He only has one more he can think of. "You're too beautiful."

She almost snorts at his lame attempt to come up with a reason against them exchanging vows--trussing up the marriage they practically live everyday already. "How is that a reason against it?"

"If you were my wife, _my spouse_ , I would never be able to keep my hands off you,” he tells her. “It would make working difficult.”

She's smirking now. “I'm still not seeing the downside here," she tells him. "I thought I made it pretty clear how much I like your hands on me,” she says, as she takes a step closer and gives him her best sultry look, “and if you're really worried about your hands getting tired, just use your mouth instead. Next.”

He couldn't remember if that was his last one or if he had more. For some reason his mind was focused somewhere else. “You’re going to make me forget what we were talking about,” he teases her. “I think it was you telling me how we should be married and dispelling my pathetic reasons it wouldn’t work.”

She shakes her head fondly at his distraction. It's her turn for her rebuttal but she doesn't have much left to say--she's said all the important stuff already. There's really just the one thing, but she's not sure how he'll react to it. She decides just to say it--to lay it all on the table and not regret it even if it spooks him. "I love you, you idiot, and I think you love me. What else is there?" 

He doesn't know if she's actually asking him or if it's hypothetical so he stays silent, but her words managed to make their way straight through the layer of beskar, to the same warm place he felt it the last time he heard her say those words. This time is infinitely better.

"That's all I've got," she tells him, when she's said her peace. "Argue that, Mando."

He doesn't say a word but steps forward and places his hand at the back of her neck to pull her closer. He tips his helmet-covered forehead down to hers and lets it rest there, as close as they can possibly get with his face covering in place. "I can't. I can't argue that."

He lets out a long even breath when it's clear he's made up his mind. He can't pretend not to want this any longer. Even just the pretense of arguing that they weren't meant to be together felt unnatural and wrong.

“Okay," he says. 

"Okay?" she pulls back slightly to look at him in question. _Okay what?_

"Okay. I accept," he states. "You're right, we _are_ good together--better than good-- _great_. We make each other better. And you're right, I do love you. I could think of no one else I'd want to spend the rest of my days alongside.”

"So that's it then?” she asks, pleasantly surprised how painless that was. “We're married then?"

He laughs at her enthusiasm. "No, not yet, but I appreciate your eagerness. It's very endearing." She glares at him, but he doesn't let it stop him. "We have to say a few lines of words first."

"We just said words," she argued, feeling pretty emotionally worn out already. Those were probably the most words she'd ever said.

"Different words, in my language" he clarifies. "I'll have to teach them to you."

"Okay.....that's it? A few words?"

"That's it," he says, comfortingly. "Why? What is it like where you're from?"

She tries to remember. "Some people have a small ceremony but ninety-nine times out of a hundred it's a large flashy ceremony--the gaudier the affair, the better, for some reason. There' a priest or a spiritual leader and you both say vows to them and each other. You exchange rings then there's a party with traditional sweet food and drinks after. To be honest, beside the food and drinks, I like the quiet intimacy between two people of your way better."

Din thinks of ways he can make this special for her as well. She's done more than enough for him. "We can get something special to eat that's sweet the next time we stop at a bazar. Find the closest thing you can to what you remember, and we'll get it."

"Okay." She did have another question though. She knew Mandalorian didn't wear rings. "How do people know you're married if you don't wear rings?" she asks him.

The answer is simple Din thinks. "You just tell them."

She finds that hard to believe. "No jewelry, no markings on your armor, anything? No outward sign?"

He shakes his head. "No. Just your word--your actions, your loyalty. That's enough."

"Okay." She seems to be filing that away, rationalizing and combining it with what little she knows of marriage where she's from, which isn't a lot.

"You said your people wear rings?" he asks. _He could find her a ring_ , he thinks. He'd even wear one himself under his glove if that made her happy.

"Yes. Both men and women," she tells him, trying to remember more details. She combs a hand through her hair mindlessly. "Women obviously wear their hair differently too," she says as an afterthought, like it's so obvious it doesn't need repeating. "It's pretty obvious on Alderaan if you're married." It hurt when he realized she slipped up and spoke of it in the present tense. 

She’s more talking to herself than him when she speaks again. "I'm not even sure I remember how to recreate the right braid anymore." She had never paid that close attention. He doesn't like the far-away look in her eyes as she tries and fails to remember how to assemble the plait married women wore.

"So that's the marriage itself," he says, loud enough to break her out of her reverie. "How would you _propose_ then?" he asks, interested in how it's different than what he's been taught.

"I never _would_ have where I'm from," she tells him. "It's the man who proposes, but he asks the woman's family first."

"Why is it never the woman," he asks, "that makes no sense. What if it's her idea?"

She finds that funny. "My culture was more backwoods than yours, I guess. It's just the way it's always been." He didn't want to go against her beliefs she was raised with, but it seemed they already had. "What else do they do?” Not only did she do it all backward for his benefit, but he couldn't even give her the honor of involving her parents, with her family all gone. 

"That's it," she says. "You ask for their hand in marriage."

"There's no special ceremony or process you have to follow?" He asks. He hoped there was something else, _some other gesture_ , he could do to show her this wasn't all about him.

She remembers only the one other detail. "A man gets on one knee to show respect or deference or something and the woman just stands there until she gives her answer. Then the man can get up."

"You're making that up," he says, as he calls her bluff. "They really kneel on the ground?" His knees weren't what they used to be.

She laughs. "In these old stories, men would get down on one knee as a display of respect, obedience, and loyalty--a symbol of surrender, but it's also a symbol of giving up your power unto someone else. I remember when one of my older cousins got engaged there was a huge scandal because the proposal took place across a dinner table. My mother was shocked. She said to her sister, 'if a man won't get on his knees for you, you obviously aren't doing something right'."

Din laughed. He could imagine his Mandalorian mother saying something similar. 

Cara gets a funny look on her face as she runs her mother's words over in her head a few times. "Actually, thinking back. I'm not sure if she was talking about a proposal or sex. I was like ten, so it could have been either, looking back. Whatever, it works for both."

He tries very hard not to let his brain linger on that image she just conjured up. "So it's always the man that proposes?" he asks, genuinely confused but intrigued by the different take on matrimony. That must have been why she was so surprised when he stated she had proposed to him. It wasn't shock at the principle; just that it wasn't how it was done in her experience.

"Always," she tells him, "except just now. I guess I'm the first. I'm a trailblazer like that."

His mind is made up. He shifts his rifle to his other shoulder and turns his belt holding the blasters slightly to the side, before shifting his weight.

Her eyes get big as she sees his weight shift from one foot to another.

"What are you doing? she asks him, sounding surprised but also slightly panicked.

"What does it look like? I’m getting on my knees," he deadpans.

"Why?" She’s seen him kneel to get on the kid's level, but never seen him in a position remotely similar to this one. Knowing what message he’s trying to convey makes it even more meaningful, if not slightly hilarious.

He's down on both knees already, but adjusts so one knee is bent with his foot flat on the ground. His answer is simple. "You've embraced my culture, I want to do the same.”

She feels oddly self-conscious he's making himself so uncomfortable for her. She’s never liked being the center of attention. "You don't have to. My culture doesn't even exist anymore."

" _It does_," he insists. "It's still alive inside _you_ , and the handful of survivors like you. It doesn't make it any less important--if anything, it makes it more so."

He holds out his hand and takes off his glove. "Can I have your hand for marriage?" Technically he was supposed to tack on ' _in_ marriage' instead of ' _for_ marriage' on the end but the intent was clear and the meaning she could feel behind it more than made up for it. There's no way he could have known anyway. Semantics didn't matter--just the two of them; flawed, but finally less stupid and getting on with it. _Ugh_ , she thinks. Greef would be so smug she would be able to feel it through the holo when they told him. She could almost imagine his voice as he gave them his best exaggerated " _finally_ " and " _what the hell took you so long_."

She places her hand in his, where's he's been holding it palm up in front of him.

"I'm sorry I can't ask your family," he says when it's clear he's skipped a step but is doing the best he can.

She is too, There were few moments over the years she wished she could have shared with them--this being one--the other being the first time the kid ran to her instead of Din to cuddle him when he tripped and skinned his hands. It was strangely the first time she ever felt like a mother and not just a woman holding a child, but she had no one to talk to about how it made her feel. She hadn't thought about her mother or older sisters in years and all the sudden the loss hit her so strongly she was glad the kid was there in her arms to keep her grounded. He chirped pitifully as she carried him around, wanting to both violently tear up that patch of floor for hurting him and to buy a soft rug so it wouldn't happen again. 

She won't let herself dwell on that thought now. Nothing could take her mind off this moment. Her biological family was long since gone, but Din and their kid were _here_ , and the former was still kneeling on the ground. She comes up with a good alternative. "You can ask the kid--he's family. I'm sure he'd approve."

He nods, without moving from his position on the floor. "I'll grab him right after you give me your answer so I can stand up."

He's humoring her strange custom but it's so sweet she can't make fun of him for sitting so still. 

She scoffs at his obliviousness. "You know the answer's yes, laser-brain. Get off the floor before you get all dirty."

"So......yes?" he asks, just to make sure. He can't believe the way life has changed in just the last half hour. 

  
"Yes." With her answer not leaving any room for doubt, he struggles to get back to a standing position to put his arms around her. 

"We should have done this a long time ago, you know?" he says, once they settle into a comfortable embrace. It'll take some getting used to being so open about their affection, no _love_ , for each other, but there's no point holding back from each other any longer if they call each other riduur.

She can't argue with that at all. "Yeah, I know."

  
Din groans dramatically as something else just dawned on him. "Greef will never shut up about this, just so you know."

She buries her face into his chest in between his chest plate and neck and laughs. "No, he certainly won't."

"Later tonight then?" he suggests, as the cheek of his helmet is resting against the side of her head. What point is there in waiting when they both want to move forward? They've wasted so much time already.

"Tonight," she agrees. "Dusk maybe? Let me at least take a bath and wash my hair. I'll take the kid with me; he needs his ears washed and he only permits it for special occasions."

Where he had been all nerves only moments ago, now he was all nervous excitement. "I'll write out the words you need to say so you can read them. We'll practice the pronunciation a few times before the sun sets."

"Okay. I guess we're getting married tonight," she says, and it's clear she is still a little in disbelief what leaps and bounds they made today after fighting it for so long. She sounds happy though; a sound he wants to hear everyday from here on out.

Din nods his head in agreement. "In the words of our mutual friend, "it's about time." 

\----------------------the end--------------------------

How I actually think it would go, though it doesn’t make for a good story :/

One day between jobs--grounded for repairs

“So, do you want to get married? I mean we're basically married already,” he states, “but to make it official?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Djarin,” she tells him. “Sure, why not. Let's do it.”

“You sure?” he asks. That was almost too easy for someone as argumentative as Cara. She must really want this too.

“Yeah. Like you said, we're basically married, raising a kid together already. We like each other, respect each other, and watch each other's back. We have a great time in the sack, fight perfectly in sync, and we might love each other. What else is there?”

“That's everything," he states, and really means it. It's more than he ever imagined. _She's_ more than he ever imagined. 

“Okay, let's do it," she says confidently. "You grab the kid while I at least wash this engine grease off my face. I'm not wearing a dress though, just so you know.”

“I wasn't planning on it either.”

“--and I'm not putting flowers in my hair.”

“I wouldn't ask you to," he assures her.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

Surprisingly, they both made it through their vows without cracking a single joke; giving the event its due reverence. Neither of them imagined they'd ever get married at all, but this didn't seem overwhelming or even surprising; it was just a natural step in the marathon they had been running together for some years. Din had laughed the entire time he tried to teach her how to say her vows in a language she didn't speak, but when it came time and she gave it her best shot, he didn't laugh at all. The kid sat quietly beside them at sunset with his clean and dry ears, picking up that something big was happening—they could tell, because he wasn't trying to sneak off or get into mischief at all. The little guy had been so confused during the ceremony, yet so well-behaved, that they couldn't turn him away when it came time for bed either. Instead, they had all piled into Din's bunk to sleep--their wedding night would simply have to be put off, but they didn’t mind.

In hope of finding something resembling the sweet cake Cara had mentioned, they made a quick detour to the Outer Rim, where the best markets could be found. The cake she managed to find sat in her bag until later, when they could find time to eat it. Since they were in the neighborhood, they squeezed in a quick daytrip to Nevarro afterward to make it worth their while.

They strolled into the dusty cantina and casually pulled up seats at the bar to wait for their friend-- the kid was safe in his carrier at their side as they waited. They weren’t surprised they had to wait—that man always loved to make an entrance….

Just as Greef showed up and took a seat, beaming at their unexpected appearance, this sleazy guy sits down on the other side of Cara where there was an empty seat. It's clear he's drunk as he makes a pass at her, but she soundly ignores him to say ‘hi’ to Greef instead. The dumbass sitting next to her tried to get her attention _again_ and again and she brushed him off twice (gently, she might add) before he made the mistake of grabbing her arm. Greef had already opened his mouth to say something on her behalf to diffuse the situation, but Din jumped in first.

"If you want to live, I suggest you take a step back from my wife," Din warns the man on the other side of Cara. Greef’s not diffusing the situation at all now—he’s just standing there with his mouth open, looking back and forth between the pair of them like an idiot. The man who was dumb enough to touch her didn't seem deterred by the threat at all. "This fine lady can tell me herself,” he says around her to the Mandalorian, while not removing his hand, “I'm not scared of you, tin head." _Didn't this dumbass notice his hand couldn't even wrap halfway around her arm?_ Din wondered. He must either be totally shitfaced or just have no sense of self preservation. Din almost couldn't blame him though. Cara did funny things to _his_ brain too.

"You misunderstood,” Din clarifies, “I was trying to do you a favor and protect your face from _her_ first, but by all means......no one loves a bar fight like _'this fine lady_ ' does." The look she gives him, complete with her trademark smirk, is so heated that Din barely notices when Greef finally manages to collect himself enough to ask, " _wife_? What the hell? When did this happen?" Din hardly even heard the surprise in Greef’s voice. The way Cara looked at him when he said she could deal with that asshole herself, suddenly made him wish they were in a more private setting. Maybe after they ate the closest thing to a ceremonial cake Cara could find, they could find some time alone......

Cara grows bored of the whole affair, and knocks out the guy who tried again to clumsily grope his way up her arm. As the guy hits the floor, she casually says to Greef, "Oh yeah, did we forget to mention that?"

"Yes, you certainly did," he says pointedly, totally oblivious to the unconscious man on the floor. "You guys got married without telling me?" He barely even notices when a housekeeping droid whirls over to remove the patron away from their feet.

"We're telling you _now_ ,” she states, “try to keep up."

"This calls for a drink," Greef declares, and he tells the serving droid across the bar to pull out a bottle from his own personal collection. “If I had known about the occasion, I would have put together something more fitting,” he apologizes.

"We were just in the neighborhood,” Cara explains, “and thought we'd share and drop in for a visit.”

"A toast then, at the very least," he proposes instead. "To Cara and Din. May you be slightly less obnoxious together, than you are apart."

At their shared glare, he quickly takes it back. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding,” he laughs. “I couldn't imagine a better match for either of you," he says, honestly. "You belong together. I said it right from the beginning."

Cara rolls her eyes. She’s pretty sure Din’s are rolling too.

" _What_?" Greef asks, at her over-the-top eye roll, "I called it way back when. Prove to me I didn’t."

Cara just grins at him indulgently. "Of course, you did."

He raises his glass and they raise theirs. "Congratulations my friends--to a long and happy and peaceful life. Cheers." He toasts both of them, and grabs a straw for Din as he continues. "May you have peace when you want it, adventure when you seek it, and everything good in between."

"Thank you," Din says, more than a little surprised at how appropriate, understated, and downright eloquent it was for a man who was always over the top.

"Yes, thank you, Greef," Cara agrees, as she eyes him suspiciously. "That was remarkably sincere and mature of you."

"I've been saving it up,” he explains with a smile, and pats her shoulder. “It's not like I see you that often. I had plenty of time to think of something."

"I know, I know. We don't visit enough," she admits, refusing to feel guilty.

"You two _only_ visit when you have news," he explains. "I've gotten used to it." _It’s comforting to know he’s still proficient at delivering a pretty convincing guilt trip._

"It’s going to be hard to outdo _this_ , boss," she says. She’s pretty proud they were able to actually surprise him.

"I don’t know, I think you can still top it,” he says confidently. “I'm guessing your next visit will be when you're announcing another member of your crew. I’ll make sure I’m ready by then." He cracks up at his own joke and Cara has to admit she’s missed his particular brand of laugh.

"You offering to babysit, old man?"

Din chimes in, as he removes the straw from under his helmet after he took a sip. "We're not really looking to adopt any other foundlings." It only makes Greef laugh louder.

The whole scene fills Cara with mirth. "Don’t worry,” she tells her new spouse, “I'll explain it to you when you're older."

…………..

"That went well. He was genuinely happy for us I think," she says, as they sit down at the table in the galley of The Crest when they can’t put off their departure any longer.

"I knew he'd say, _'I told you so'_ ," Din says, always happy to be proven right. It’s rare, but it does happen from time to time.

"Maybe it was obvious for a while," she concedes.

"Maybe," he admits, pensively--thinking back to the early days. "I mean, if Greef of all people could see it..... maybe we really were late to the game, after all."

That night, she opens her satchel and pulls out the cake she'd bought that morning. It was totally melted in the heat, but they didn't care that it was lumpy and misshapen, and the icing had mostly run off the top in transit. The kid in her lap didn’t care either—he kept reaching out his arms for the dessert he felt he had first dibs on. He was twice as strong as he looked when food was involved.

Din looks at it like it's a puzzle to figure out. "What do we do," he asks her, "just eat it?"

"We cut it _together_ and eat it," she corrects him. "It's supposed to be symbolic or something."

"We don't have a knife,” he warns her. They hadn’t done dishes in days with all the travel.

"Speak for yourself, Din,” she brags, “I _always_ have a knife."

She pulls a knife out of her boot and runs it under the sink before returning to the table where the cake sits.

"What if it makes us sick?" Din asks, as he looks at the questionable lumpy pastry and the knife he knows has seen questionable things over its time in her possession.

"Then we get sick together,” she tells him. “That's marriage for you--puking your guts out _together_."

"You're a true romantic,” he fondly states. “Has anyone ever told you that?"

She huffs out an amused sound. "I can honestly say, I've never heard that before."

The cake was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, even with most of the sugary icing on the paper wrapping where it had melted in her bag. His stomach would probably protest the dose of sugar upon sugar later, but it was worth a stomach grumble or two to let Cara have a sense of normalcy and tradition she didn't think she'd have. The kid's face was covered in icing where they let him have the last piece where they'd cut it into thirds instead of halves.

The day out in the sun had taken its toll on all of them. Cara grabbed a washcloth to clean off the kid's face and hands, while she assumed Din was getting ready for bed. Instead he rummaged in his pockets and waited for her to return. He still had one more thing to show her anyway, before they let the sugar coma take over and lull them to sleep. "I got you this,” he says as she returns, and puts the green bean on the ground where he can chew on the wet washcloth to his heart’s content until they head off to bed. He presents her a metal circular shape he’d gotten in the market that likely started off its life in a metal shop as a bolt or a washer, but had obviously been flattened and polished to change its shape into a ring. Upon closer inspection in the light, it was a questionable amalgamation of common metals, but to her, it was now one of the most valuable things she owned. 

"I got one for me too,” he tells her, before pulling out a second ring that’s the same metal as the first and puts it on. He goes to hand hers over, and reassures her, “if it doesn't fit, I can adjust it."

"Put it on me," she tells him instead, and she presents the correct finger, so he doesn't have to ask.

It was a little on the loose side, but that was okay. She didn't want to change it at all, even to tighten it. It was like _them_ \--a bit tarnished, rough around the edges, an unlikely combination, and worth so much more than just what you saw on the surface. 

She doesn’t want to change anything, in fact.

"It's perfect," she tells him. “Let’s turn in.”

…………………

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for hanging in there!  
> I have so many ideas and drafts, they're kind of getting out of control, but I have basically zero time to write them with work being what it is :/
> 
> I love each and every comment and even if it takes me a while to respond, they really light up my day.  
> until next time.


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